


Socked Tangas

by Amaya_Ithilwen



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon-Typical Humor, Canon-typical Cursing, Gen, M/M, Trophies, Underwear, stealing socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaya_Ithilwen/pseuds/Amaya_Ithilwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash wants Grif to explain why he had his socks and what he did do with them. Grif meanwhile wants to know why Tucker still had the yellow tanga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socked Tangas

It was a mostly bright day in Chorus. There were some clouds passing by from the rain of yesterday, but nothing which would announce another shower of rain. The soil was dry on the surface, but still wet right underneath it. In the shadows of the buildings puddles of rain water pooled, making the soil muddy. Every inattentive soldier who stepped into those puddles immediately got rewarded with mud strikes on the armor.

Moving over to the house he was living in with the other guys of the Blood Gulch Crew, Wash only shortly wanted to get a shower and wait until the suit dried up. Just because it didn’t look like rain it didn’t mean that it didn’t rain at all. So Wash had been the lucky one to come into a shower of rain, which moistened him down to his bones. Fucking great.

Grumbling, Wash kicked off his armor, arranging it neatly beside the shower that he could dry. The body suit was hung up at a clothes hanger over the shower as soon as Wash was done showering. He could dry off there; the water would drip into the shower and not cause a flooding in the bathroom like that.

Stepping out of the shower, the Freelancer went over to the room he shared with Tucker to shortly change in his civvies for the time he waited for the suit to dry up. He could see his neatly made bed, as well as Tuckers mess of sleeping place. He didn’t bother making the bed when stumbling out of it in the morning. Hell, he didn’t even bother changing the bed sheets after whacking off. He often enough said that he didn’t.

No wonder was Wash rather sleeping in his bed than Tuckers. Most of the time it was Tucker to toddle over to his bed, when Wash came back late in the night from his work and crashed out in his own made bed. He often worked longer than any of the other soldiers did. Something, that came with being the CO and a Special Trooper. Sighting the Freelancer left the room he shared with Tucker after shortly opening the window.  
The room could use some fresh air…

The room on the opposite of his and Tuckers was used by Grif and Simmons. The grey-yellow armored soldier knew that at least Grif was in there. He still was supposed to lie down because he still suffered from the after pains of the food intoxication. He had to stay laid down for some more days to recover completely.

Spontaneous the Freelancer decided to walk over and have a talk with Grif. How he was feeling and what he was thinking. He was the leader now of the team. And as leader he had to know his fellow team members. What worries they had, how they were thinking about the others, about the mission here, etc.

Knocking, he entered the room, seeing Grif sitting on the bed. He could understand if the Hawaiian was tired of lying all the time. Even a slacker like he was would be fed up with laying around some when.

“Hey, how are you?” asked the Freelancer casually. He got the chair standing at the desk and carried it over. He didn’t like dragging it along, because it was too noisy and damaging. There were people sleeping, which worked during the night and would wake up for sure when he was making such a ruckus. Besides, the floor of the room was made of wood. He would only cause horrible damages on the wood when dragging the chair along.

Sitting down on the chair, he leaned forward, bracing his weight on his knees with his upper arms. Attentively he looked over to Grif, who just was shrugging with his shoulders.  
“Dunno. Still a bit weak, maybe a bit sick still. Fucking food intoxication.” answered the Hawaiian. Wash observed him attentively. Just to know what was behind that answer. If he wanted to get more days to slack off or if he really was feeling so sick he said. After some moments he exhaled, leaning back in the chair. He felt his back hurting and he only hoped that he would be able to sleep to zone out this pain until the end of the shift. Some sleep easily would help getting rid of the pain in his back.

He got pulled back onto reality as Grif rummaged around under the bed an pulled out a grey sock with yellow striking. Wait a second. He knew those socks!  
“What the fuck!? Those are my socks!” exclaimed Wash, trying to snatch the sock out of Grifs hand. But the Hawaiian was faster, holding the sock away, out of Washs reach.  
“Whatever.” grumbled the orange armored soldier, rolling his eyes.

Taking out a little silver pack with a blue printing, he began opening it and took out an Oreo.  
“This is my sock! And why are there fucking Oreos in it!?” asked Wash incredulously. Again trying to get the sock without success. 

“I know they are your socks. But I need a place to hide my Oreos. Because you assholes would take them away. Reasoning that they all are fucking expired and I shouldn’t eat them, because they are not healthy for me.” Answered Grif with his mouth stuffed.  
“What is true! And eat down before talking! That’s fucking gross!” shot Wash back, looking at Grif with a mixture of disbelief, disgust and anger.  
“Hey I got them only a week ago you cockbite! They’re not expired!” insisted Grif, eating another Oreo.

Wash huffed, rubbing his hands over his face. “You steal my socks to hide away your Oreos!? I can’t believe it…” muttered Wash. Really, did this guy not have other problems than stealing socks to hide away the Oreos!? The washing machine was stealing enough socks! They had to fight every week to get enough socks and other underwear to not have bladders on the feet and something to put on when not in the armor.

“Hey I didn’t only take your stinky socks!” tried Grif to play down the situation, what only brought him a devastating glance of the Freelancer.  
“Oh who elses then? Simmons? And they’re freshly washed you moron!” snapped Wash, looking at Grif with a withering glare.  
“Hey I’m a man fond of my lust! You think I be such an asshole to do that to my or Simmons socks if I want sex with him after the shift?”

The grey-yellow armored only groaned hiding his face in his hands. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”  
“Why should I? I’m fucking honest!” Why couldn’t the Freelancer understand that he loved it to have sex with Simmons. That he loved it to get screwed until he couldn’t think straight anymore?

Wash muttered something under his breath before asking. “And who’s socks did you steal beside mine?”  
“Let’s see.” Grif tapped with this index finger against his chin as he was thinking. “Tuckers, Sarges, Cabooses, Donuts and well, yours.”

“So you didn’t take the one of Carolina or Grey?”  
Grif snorted. “Do I want to get fucking dissected or beaten to death?” He wanted a safe place to hide his socks, but he wasn’t suicidal. He loved his life.

“Ugh, fair point.” Sighed Wash, standing up and reaching under the bed to get all the socks, which weren’t the ones of Grif or Simmons.  
“I guess I’m taking these now. Because you don’t need them anymore.” Explained Wash, emptying every sock on the bed. They were full of crumbs. Well, they all go directly into the washing machine to make another round. Some of them for sure came out just some hours ago. Great.

“Hey and where am I supposed to hide my Oreos you asshole!?” whined Grif, trying to get the socks back. He leaned over the edge of the bed, grabbing for the different colored socks in Washs hands. He didn’t care if the Oreos were falling to the ground or crumbing the bed. Well, Simmons would tell him a story about that anyway when he got back from his shift, Wash was sure.

This time Wash was faster than him. He held the socks out of Grifs reach, without letting the red out of his eyes. After some attempts, the orange armored soldier seemed to decide that this action was way too much work and sat back on the bed. He crossed his arms, pouting. He just looked like Kai when he did that.

Arms crossed and head turned away. It doesn’t surprise the Freelancer that the two were siblings after all, even though sometimes they didn’t behave like that. But the little things gave away that they were siblings after all. As Washington was sure that he wouldn’t get an answer out of Grif, he decided to go back to his room and check if his suit was dry.

Putting back the chair to the desk, he just was about to leave Grifs and Simmons room, as the orange armored soldier shouted after him.  
“You could at least gimme back the yellow Tanga Tucker is hiding in his room, for taking the socks you fucker!”  
He didn’t know if Wash knew about that, but deducing from his reaction, he didn’t.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the handle of the door and his whole figure went rigid. Oho, Tucker and Wash were working a gig and he didn’t know about that. Sweet. That was something he could tease the Freelancer with a bit. He almost rubbed his hands in anticipation, but decided to play the lazy slacker he always was.

Wash turned around with an incredulous glance. “What!?”  
This time Grif began laughing out loudly, just because Washs face looked so completely derailed. Something rare to see from the Freelancer. He was looking at Grif incredulously, with every second Washington was standing there, Grif could see his face and neck redden. It was a dark crimson blush by now and Grif couldn’t help but laughing out loudly to this sight.

“Come on mister know-it-all! Don’t tell me you don’t know about Tuckers secret stash of trophies! That sucker always keeps underwear of the people he banged! The yellow tanga is from my sister by the way.”  
“I already assumed that of the color.” Muttered the Freelancer, again rubbing over his face as if he wanted to make the blush go away with only rubbing over his face.  
“So? You get the tanga for me?” asked Grif casually, a smile was still playing around the corner of his lips as he observed the rigid figure of Wash standing in the door way.

Groaning, the Freelancer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why should I bring you back the tanga of your stupid sister?”  
“You bring my tanga and I don’t tell Tucker where you hide your underwera. Because I’m sure he has no trophy of you so far because you’re so fucking paranoid and lock your underwear away in the storage area on your left leg.”

“That’s blackmailing.” Stated Wash, looking at the Hawaiian with slight anger sparkling in his eyes, while his hand unconsciously wandered down to the place said storage unit would be when he would wear his armor.

Grif only again shrugged. “I know, but some blackmailing among friends isn’t much of a deal. You’re blackmailing me too you asshole. So don’t play the saint here. Get up and make your drills or I’ll wet your bed with a bucket full of fucking cold water.”  
“That’s no blackmailing!” shot Wash back, heat again rising. “I just make you do what I want you to do you lazy fatass. Besides it helps you!”  
Grif again grinned. “See, that’s the same like this situation here. So you’ll help me or not?”

Wash let hear a noise, what sounded like a mix of a groan and a sigh. But it was a noise of defeat. Obviously he had given up on reasoning with Grif. This guy really was going on his nerves, thought Wash, pinching his nose bridge one last time. “Okay, I see what I can do about this fucking tanga. And you stop stealing our socks.”  
“Can’t promise that, dude. I need a safe hideout.”

Again Wash groaned before leaving the room and walking over to his sleeping place. The suit may be dry by now, but he had something else to do right now. He had to find this ridiculous stash of Tucker and burn it to ashes outside the house. And change the hideout for his underwear, that Tucker won’t be able to make one of Washs boxers to one of Tuckers trophies.


End file.
